Distractions
by paradoxmachine
Summary: It was hard to hate a man who looked so good in that coat. [Jack/Ianto, Oneshot, Post-Cyberwoman]


Setting: Post-Cyberwoman

* * *

Captain Jack Harkness was distracting.

It was an undeniable fact, and Ianto _hated _him for it. He hated him for a lot of things, actually- or at least, he wanted to. Jack was the only outlet for his grief. Jack was ruthless, cruel, a murderer. Jack had taken away everything he'd lived for, for as long as he could remember.

The problem was, Jack was _charming_. It wasn't the purely aesthetical kind, either. Sure, he was symmetrical and well-proportioned and such, but it was the way he filled a room that Ianto liked- didn't hate- the most. Jack had an indescribable presence, something that lived between rampant charisma and something else. Something subtle, personal.

Jack Harkness cared about people in a way a callous killer shouldn't be allowed to.

Torchwood wasn't just his team, they were his _collection_.

It was easy to think of that as a bad thing, to imagine that Jack was playing them like pawns. But it wasn't like that, try as he might to write it off. Jack cherished them.

Ianto had known that from the beginning, really, though he'd tried to deny it. But Ianto Jones wasn't part of a _team_. He was part of the scenery, because that was the way it had to be. He hadn't come to Cardiff to _join _Torchwood 3. He'd come to infiltrate it. Ianto had never imagined himself a puppet master, but he was the one who was supposed to be using _them_. He'd come here with a single-minded goal, but Jack had ruined all of that. He'd taken Lisa away.

Ianto _hated _him. Loathed him. Wholly, absolutely, completely.

When he was thinking about it. But sometimes, as sickening as it was, he forgot to.

"Need help?" Jack said, striding down the stairs.

It was times like this, when he accidentally found himself alone with Jack, that Ianto forgot to hate him.

"No thank you," Ianto said, smiling politely before averting his gaze. "I'm dusting. It's a one-person job."

"Yeah, I noticed," Jack said, putting a hand on his shoulder. Ianto fought to not flinch away. "I saw you down here and I thought, 'Boy, that Ianto Jones sure is dedicated. It takes a special kind of man to lurk around at three in the morning cleaning the banisters.'"

"I live to please," Ianto said, with another courtesy smile.

"I once dated a guy who cleaned when he was nervous," Jack said, leaning against the railing. Right in his way, Ianto noted. "Of course, he also dribbled ink from his pedipalps, so maybe he gets a free pass."

Ianto didn't respond. This wasn't the first time Jack had tried to play this game with him since Lisa died. Jack wanted him to start a conversation, and Ianto wasn't going to do it. Jack could play nice all he wanted. It didn't excuse him for what he'd done.

"He used to get so embarrassed about it, too," Jack continued relentlessly. "Which only made it worse. Can't say it wasn't endearing, though."

"Just stop, Jack," Ianto said, looking up at him coldly. "Just stop. It's a little late to start being my 'friend.'"

Jack met his eyes before Ianto could think to look away, piercing blue and _awful_. Ianto didn't want his compassion. _Leave me alone_, he thought. _I just want to be…_

The thought trailed off as he tore his gaze away, staring very intently at the duster in his hand.

"Now correct me if I'm wrong," Jack said, "But I think there's things you might enjoy more than spit-shining handrails in the wee hours of the morning. Like going home, maybe, and getting some sleep."

Home. An almost empty flat that was more alien than anything he'd seen at Torchwood. Alone in a bed that felt like a stranger's.

"That's what I thought," said Jack.

Ianto pursed his lips. Jack touched his shoulder again, and it was unbearable how much he wanted to let him do it.

"Here's an idea," Jack said, patting him. "There's some things in my office that could really use dusting."

Ianto opened his mouth to shoot him down, but Jack was distracting him, and he forgot he was angry, so instead he said, "Yes, sir."

That was the start of it. One slip of the tongue, and then suddenly-

Here he was. Sitting in Captain Jack's office with Jack's coat draped around his shoulders. How in the world had that happened?

Ianto's only comfort was that Jack was on the opposite side of the desk, unable to pet him reassuringly. That would have been too much.

"I can't help but notice you haven't sent in your resignation," Jack said, with a reassuring smile instead.

This was terrible. The comforting weight of Jack's coat was exactly the embrace that he needed. Something warm to cling to, and to hide him. This was carefully calculated manipulation, the bastard.

"Where would I go?" Ianto said simply.

"Away," said Jack. "A new life, far away, where the ghosts aren't lurking around every corner."

Jack would know all about that, Ianto thought. He didn't know where Jack had come from, or what he'd left behind; only that he was running. And that it wasn't actually working.

"It wouldn't help," Ianto said, subconsciously sinking into Jack's coat. "I would still think about her, every minute of every day."

And I'd be alone, he thought, but didn't say.

Alone, instead of trapped here under this coat with a _monster _who maybe, actually, genuinely cared.

"Are you…" Ianto started carefully, "Firing me?"

"I just want you to think, really _think_, about why you're still here."

Because it was familiar. Routine. Because he didn't have to think about it. Because there wasn't anything else even slightly comparable to working here.

Because Torchwood was the only place that felt like home.

"Owen is _filthy_," Ianto said. "This place would go to the weevils without me."

Jack laughed, and grinned, and Ianto forgot to hate him.

"Great!" said Jack. "Good to hear it. I might have to cut your hours, though. Gotta give that duster time to recuperate."

"You'll have to wrestle me out the door, sir," Ianto said politely.

"I've got a better idea," Jack said, still grinning. "How about you sleep in my quarters tonight?"

Ianto stared at him, suddenly petrified. The smell of Jack's coat was overwhelming, and so was that perfect grin. This was an absolutely unsurprising offer, but it was hard to hear when he was sitting like this.

"I didn't bring my toothbrush," Ianto said.

"You sleep with your toothbrush? That's a weird thing," said Jack. "Seriously, though. I'll stay up here and keep watch. You look like you're about to fall over."

Slowly, Ianto nodded.

"Don't go getting any ideas," Ianto said, "I'll have you know I sleep fully dressed."

"Coat, shoes, and everything?" said Jack. "Impressive."

"…Speaking of coats," Ianto said, standing up. "I really should give yours back."

"Really? It looks great on you," Jack said, getting up and standing uncomfortably close.

"It looks better on you," said Ianto. He took a step forward and shrugged the coat off, and then in one swift motion he was putting it on Jack. Ianto noticed idly that his hands were quivering, and he was disappointed in them for being so unprofessional. He was still gripping the collar. He was standing way too close.

Holding his breath, and lingering far too long.

And then he was kissing Jack, and it felt more right than anything he'd done in ages.

"Right, then," Ianto said, pulling away stiffly. "I'll be going now."

"Hey, Ianto," Jack said, and Ianto hesitated with his back turned.

"Yes sir?"

"I have some shelves that really need dusting when you get up."

Ianto smiled, just a little. "Of course."


End file.
